Hands on policing
by Lucida Bright
Summary: Alex showing Gene how to get in touch with his inner, softer self... November 1981.
1. Touching

_This story has been completely edited and revised, and now has a completely new (M-rated) final chapter. Many thanks to Wombledon for being a superb beta, as ever. Hope you enjoy it._

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_Mid-November 1981_

Alex Drake watched as WPC Sharon Granger threw herself back into work after a month off, recovering from her close encounter with a knife blade. Content – for the time being, at least – to stick within the purlieu of the CID office, Shaz was wading through a bucketful of filing, sorting and clearing.

'Aw-ight, Sha-a?' DS Ray Carling had his mouth full of biscuit as he wandered past her, mug of tea in hand. Alex noted the change in his attitude, remembering how much Ray had resented Shaz getting between him and his mate Chris; but when Ray thought she was dead, it had hit him like a boot in the ribs. As for DC Chris Skelton, all his police experience couldn't help him as he had to watch his girlfriend dying on the muddy tarmac, watched in helpless silence by a knot of hard men.

'Shaz?' Alex called softly. The young PC came over at once, always happy to oblige the woman she called her guardian angel. 'Yes, Ma'am?'

'We've got the Dingwalls fraud case to sort out – the timber exporters at Shadwell? I need a forensic accountant. We should have a list of accountancy firms that can provide us with an expert witness.'

'Okay, Ma'am. I'll get on to it.' Shaz straightened up and winced, putting a hand to her neck in obvious pain.

'You all right, Shaz?'

'Fine, Ma'am. Neck's a bit sore, that's all.' She smiled and went back to her desk; rubbing her neck while she flicked through a card index.

When Alex came back from lunch she found her in the kitchen, swallowing tablets with a mouthful of water. 'Neck still bad, Shaz?'

'Fraid so, Ma'am. It's not usually this bad, not so early in the day.'

'Here, sit down a minute.' Alex pushed the young woman into a chair. 'Is it okay if I have a feel of your neck?'

Shaz looked up at Alex, unsure of what she meant. 'What are you going to do?'

'I might be able to ease it a bit.' Alex's long fingers probed beneath the blue-black jacket collar, at the top of Shaz's spine. As she worked gently, she watched for the girl's body language to see where it hurt her. As Alex pressed down on the muscles around the neck vertebrae, Shaz flinched, her breath hissing.

'Sorry.' Alex continued to probe, but more gently. Her fingertips moved along Shaz's collarbone, pressing and squeezing, testing the muscle tissue. Up each side of the neck below her ears, then down the line of her backbone. 'How does that feel?'

'It's all quite sore, Ma'am, but the worst bit was where you first touched.'

Alex moved away and leant against the counter top. 'How long has it been like this?'

'Well... everything hurt when I was hospital, but everything's pretty much got better except my neck.'

'Have you asked your doctor about it?'

'Yeah, but she said it was normal and it would sort itself out. She says it's quite common after CPR because the body's given quite a bashing in the process. And I was on the road, so I got pretty bruised.'

'So it's my fault.'

Shaz laughed softly. 'Sort of, Ma'am. But I forgive you.'

Alex squeezed her shoulder affectionately. Construct or not, the girl was a treasure.

'They did an x-ray, and there was no problem. She said it was just muscular.'

'Good.' Alex smiled at her. 'Then I can help, if you agree.'

'Yes, please, Ma'am. That would be great.'

'Okay. At the end of the shift, then, once the others have gone to the pub.'

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'Beer o'clock, gentlemen.' Ray pushed back his chair, rose to his feet and led the charge to Luigi's, bang on six o'clock. None of them so much as glanced at the two women in the room, and within thirty seconds Alex and Shaz had the place to themselves.

'Right, then. Ready?' Alex motioned the younger woman towards the kitchen, and followed her in. Shaz took her jacket off, untied her cravat and undid the top four buttons of her blouse. 'Is that enough?'

Alex pulled out a chair for her. 'Yes, fine. Come and sit.' She pulled the collar wide open to expose her neck. 'I haven't got any oils with me, but I can make a start without them and work with oil from tomorrow.' Alex rested one palm at the top of Shaz's spine and the other on her shoulder.

'Tomorrow, Ma'am?'

'If I work on you for fifteen minutes at the end of each shift this week, I reckon we can pretty much sort this out. Working with a bit of oil is better – unless you're allergic?'

'Oh. No, don't think so. Wow – I'm really grateful.'

'You're welcome. Let's make a start. If it gets too much, and you want me to stop or slow down, just say and I'll stop immediately.'

'I'll be fine, Ma'am.'

'Well, there's good pain, which feels like it's doing good, and there's bad pain, which feels wrong. Only you will know the difference, so I'm relying on you to tell me.'

'Yes, Ma'am, promise.'

'So… take some deep breaths and close your eyes.' Shaz complied, and immediately Alex felt her relax a little. She set to work, pressing, kneading and squeezing the muscle beneath the skin with firm pressure, moving inch by inch across her skin. 'See if you can watch this in your mind's eye,' she said in a low, hypnotic voice. 'Watch what happens to your body as I work. Watch as the muscles are stretched and squeezed under my hands; see them squeezed like a sponge so that the blood is pushed out of the muscle fibres into the veins, taking all the toxins and the damaged cells with it. And then see the new blood rush in to fill out the fibres, flooding the cells with oxygen and all the nutrients they need to heal and restore themselves....'

Alex continued her commentary as she worked steadily and thoughtfully. Shaz's head had gradually dropped forward as she fell under the spell, relaxing in the sensual bliss of healing touch.

'Well, stick my finger in a dyke. What are you two lesbians up to?' Gene Hunt's unsympathetic tones shattered the peace of the makeshift treatment room, and Shaz jumped like a gazelle, but was kept in her chair by Alex's hands gripping her shoulders.

'Shut up, Gene, and go away. I'm just giving Shaz...'

'I can see what you're giving Shaz, and it's not in the police training manual, Drake.' The outraged DCI bent at the waist to look his WPC in the eye, but didn't bother to lower his voice. 'Well, Granger? What's DI Drake doing to you?'

Shaz, too terrified and embarrassed to hold her ground, slithered sideways from the chair and fled.

Alex sighed as Gene straightened up and looked down his nose at her; she stared straight back at him with her most insolent, insubordinate, sod-you face, and waited for him to break the silence, unaware that Shaz was watching in horrified awe from the doorway.

'Go on then, Bolly Knickers – enlighten me.'

'Mmmmm.... no.'

And giving him a sweet smile, Alex swept out of the office. Shaz scuttled after her, not wanting to be within fallout distance of the Guv as he went nuclear.

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'How is it this morning, Shaz?' Alex leant over the young WPC's desk, her voice low.

'It's really stiff, Ma'am.' She grimaced as she flexed her neck. 'But it feels different, and the headache hasn't come back.'

'I'm sorry it's still sore, but the change is good news. Do you want another session later?'

Shaz looked a bit shifty. 'Yes – but...'

'We can always go somewhere else. The Guv isn't exactly appreciative of the healing arts, is he?'

Their conspiratorial laughter reached the ears of the said individual, with predictable results.

'Drake! A word...'

Alex raised one eyebrow, making Shaz giggle.

'DRAKE!'

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'Right then, you mugwumps. Pub time. Last one there buys my drinks all night.'

As most of CID fled the office with an urgent scraping of chairs on floor, DCI Hunt swaggered through the office and halted by his DI's desk, where Alex sat poring over paperwork. 'Is this you volunteering to put your name on the slate, Bolly?'

'Suppose so, Guv, yes. I've got a couple of things to sort out, but I'll catch you up.' She looked up at him briefly. 'Want a couple of quid to get you going?'

He scowled at her. 'Chris owes me a couple of pints. Don't be long, or I'll be back to fetch you, and a fireman's lift is not a dignified exit for a detective inspector in the Metropolitan Police.' He gave her a final glare and loped out of the office.

When the last echoes of CID footwear had died away, Shaz emerged from the file room, her face split by a grin as she caught Alex's eye. 'I told Chris to distract him if he noticed you weren't there, Ma'am, so we should be safe for half an hour.'

Twenty minutes later, Chris put his head round the door. 'Er, Boss, the Guv sent me to find you. He said if I didn't bring you back before he'd sunk the next pint he'd come over himself.'

Alex kept working on Shaz's right shoulder. 'And what did Mr Hunt say he'd do to us if that situation arose?'

Chris looked shifty. 'Um... I'd rather not say, Boss.' He came a step closer. 'Er, can I watch?'

'Are you having a perv, Chris, or are you actually interested?'

'Oh, er, no, Boss. I mean yes, I'm really interested. Shaz told me last night what you'd been doing; it sounds amazing.'

'Here then, let me show you.' Alex moved to one side and let Chris stand behind his girl. 'Don't look so nervous. It's not difficult. Here, put a little bit of oil on your hands. Now watch what I do and follow me.' With slow, firm pressure she ran her hand along Shaz's shoulder and up the side of her neck to her ear, and repeated the movement, nodding to Chris that he should copy her.

'Shaz, how does that feel?'

'Lovely, Ma'am. Chris could press a little bit harder.' She winced. 'Not too much, darlin'.

Chris stopped, scared of hurting his beloved Shazza.

'Keep going, darlin', it was lovely,' Shaz urged him. Alex coached him some more, and together they worked on the young officer's injury until there was a loud sniff from behind them. Chris jumped like a hare, Shaz was too bombed to care, and Alex looked round as she continued to work. Leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded, head back, the Guv stood watching them, eyes glittering.

'Skelton – do you remember what I said would happen if you failed me?'

'Um, y... er, Guv.'

'And you, my esteemed DI Pervy Knickers, do you remember what I said to you?'

'Very clearly, Mr Hunt. But as you can see, we are engaged in more healthy pursuits than shouting like children and glugging beer. 'Perhaps you'd care to join the lesson?'

At this suggestion, she felt Shaz stiffen beneath her hands, and noticed Chris freezing, too terrified to move. Gene didn't budge.

'Okay, Shaz, I think that's it for tonight. Don't forget to drink lots of water, and I'd go straight home to a hot bath and a warm bed.' Alex patted her shoulder and let her go, laughing to herself at the speed with which the young couple vanished.

Washing her hands at the sink, she could feel Gene's eyes on her. She shivered, suddenly feeling nervous, and turned to face him, leaning back against the Formica worktop.

'What's your problem?' she demanded, with the look that dared him to accept her challenge. Gene levered himself off the doorframe and moved across to stand in front of Alex, looking down at her in her socks, three inches shorter than usual.

'You've shrunk, Bolls.'

She shrugged. 'Can't do bodywork in heels.'

'Bodywork? What's that then – a new single?'

'That's _Body Talk_, Gene. Bodywork is what you'd call massage.'

'Is that right. So you're turning my kitchen into a massage parlour. Should I be sending Dodgy Doreen's girls to you for lessons?'

Alex sighed and closed her eyes in exasperation before looking up at him with what she hoped was a neutral expression. 'Do you actually want to know what we're doing, or is this another puerile attempt to wind me up?'

'Oh, please, Bolly. Enlighten me.'

His face was the picture of scepticism; but this was the best chance she'd have to break down some of his jurassic attitudes. She nodded, willing to give it a go. 'Okay… What happens to... er, Trevor Brooking,' she dug the name from her memory with a flourish, 'when he gets an injury?'

Gene snorted. 'Put down humanely, I hope. West Ham poof.'

Alex smiled, despite herself. 'Well, a Manchester player, then. Ryan Giggs.'

'Who?'

'God! I don't know – who's playing for Man U these days?'

'If you're implying that those red bastards play football, you're in error, Bolly. If you are attempting, in your soft southern girly way to name a decent sportsman, try a man from Manchester City, which is a proper football club for a self-respecting Mancunian.'

'I don't know.' Alex gave up on football. 'Alan Wells, then. You can't say he was a poof. Olympic gold medal sprinter. All muscle and testosterone.'

'I know who he is, Bolly. Scotsman, but that's not his fault. So what about him?'

This was exhausting. Alex took another deep breath. 'When he pulls a muscle, what does he do?'

'Keeps going. He's only got 100 poxy yards to run.'

'Well, after the race, Gene, for god's sake. How does he treat an injury?'

'Hot bath, scotch and aspirin, like the rest of us.'

'No.' Alex spoke slowly and carefully to avoid losing her temper and clocking him one. 'He will get physiotherapy. Won't he?'

'I suppose.'

'And physio involves... what?'

'Dunno. Ice packs, deep heat, exercises...'

'Yes, all of those. And what else?'

Silence.

'What else, Gene?' Alex cocked an eyebrow at him, demanding an answer.

'Massage,' he muttered.

'Thank you. Exactly right. Top of the form, Mr Hunt.'

He suddenly found something on the floor of enormous interest, but dropping his head didn't hide the flush on his cheeks. Wanting to change his mind, not antagonise him, she put a hand on his arm. 'Sit down for a minute, Gene.'

He complied, to her amazement. She pulled a chair close to his, and sat down. 'When Shaz was stabbed, it caused enormous clinical shock and a massive drop in blood pressure, which is why her heart stopped. When I was trying to resuscitate her...'

'You didn't just try, Bolls. You saved her life,' said Gene, softly.

'Like you saved mine.'

Their eyes met, and the heat sent the blood into her face as she relived the moment of coming back to consciousness to find his face close enough to kiss, his hand beneath her jaw, his body warming hers.

The same image must have been in his mind, too – she could see the intensity in his eyes as he remembered. Unprepared for this flash of feeling between them she rattled on to cover her sudden confusion. 'CPR is pretty brutal, and she was lying on the road. She took quite a battering at the scene, and it was made worse by the chemical effect of the shock on her system. Then the anaesthetic, and the drugs afterwards – it's no wonder that her body has reacted badly. She's been in pain ever since, and getting terrible headaches – haven't you noticed how quiet she's been?'

Gene shifted in his chair, and muttered something inaudible.

'I'm just trying to do something to help her. And of course Chris wants to know what he can do, too.'

There was a moment of silence. He was tracing circles on the table with one finger.

'So how does it work, then?'

'Massage? In several ways.' She took hold of her own hand to demonstrate, pressing her thumb into the fleshy pad of her palm, rosy pink from working on Shaz. 'When you compress the soft tissue, it forces all the fluids out of the muscle cells – see? It goes white as the blood is squeezed out, taking all the toxins and waste with it and flushing them into the lymph system and eventually out through the kidneys.'

Gene was watching intently.

'Then when you let go, fresh blood rushes back in. That's the cleansing process.'

'What, just by squeezing?' He was absorbed.

'Yup, it's that simple. The body is a brilliant machine and repairs itself much of the time; all the massage is doing – like most medicine – is giving it a bit of help to heal itself. But there's other stuff, too. By stroking with firm pressure, like this,' she demonstrated on her own arm as Gene watched hungrily. '...you're helping the knotted-up muscle fibres unravel themselves and regain their elasticity. And this helps pull the bones back into place, so they're not pressing on nerves and grinding against each other.

'And, of course, it feels wonderful, and it's the best way to soothe and relax. Think about stroking a cat, or any animal. Think about comforting a small child.' She paused for a second, thinking of her daughter. She could feel the tears come to her eyes and blinked them away quickly. 'Touch is the primary sense for all animals; it's the first we gain when we're born, and probably the last we lose when we die. It's comfort, and love, and nurture, and healing.' Alex glanced up at Gene for a second to find his eyes on her face. She blushed and dropped her gaze, unable to meet that burning look.

'And before you say anything, there's a crucial difference between what I'm talking about, which is safe, healing touch, and what you're thinking about, which is sex. Touch has been stolen and adulterated by the sex industry – which is why we tend to use the word bodywork instead of massage.'

They both sat back and locked eyes. Gene's face was shuttered, his eyes cold. 'How do you know what I was thinking, Alex? You don't give me much credit, do you?'

For a long moment, he glared at her, and she suddenly saw the hurt beneath his anger. 'If I was unfair, I'm sorry, Gene.' She gave him a tentative smile and reached over to touch his hand, but he pushed back his chair and stood up.

'If you think you can rub some life back into WPC Granger so she's of some use to this department, feel free. I'm off back to Luigi's for a bit of sanity. Are you coming, Drake, or is an evening with us pig-ignorant sex fiends too much to contemplate?'

She pulled on her boots and stood up. 'I owe you a drink, remember?'

'You owe me more than one drink, Bolly. And I intend to collect.' Gene waved her out of the office ahead of him, and they headed for the warm smoky atmosphere of Luigi's treatment room.

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'Ma'am? Could I have a quick word?' Alex turned to see Sergeant Watkins smiling at her. Carol Watkins was in her early forties, blonde, thin as a whippet and reputedly tougher than most of the men at Fenchurch East. It was a rarity to find her on CID soil, as shepherding plods on patrol kept her busy as a collie with three legs.

'Sgt Watkins – yes, of course,' said Alex, with a quick glance to see what the Guv was doing. He didn't like his world being invaded by uniforms or women – and plonks had the logarithmic irritation factor of being both. But DCI Hunt was engrossed in the _Sporting Life_, so Alex reckoned the kitchen would be a safe enough place to talk.

'Ma'am – I heard about what you did for WPC Granger...'

Alex smiled. Since she'd sorted out Shaz's bad neck with a few short sessions of massage, Shaz and Chris had been spreading the gospel that their DI was a miracle worker and all-round goddess. The predictable result over the last few weeks was a steady stream of police officers all begging for DI Drake's ministrations. Most were genuine enough, but a couple of the men were either wind-up merchants or on the letch; Alex didn't have too much trouble sussing them, and when she told them that Chris Skelton would be happy to tend to their aches and pains, they vanished back down their rat-holes.

Alex waited for Carol Watkins to show her where the pain was, but the wiry sergeant surprised her. '... and for the others. Ted Carter says you fixed an ache that he's had for months – and he wasn't talking about Jimmy Skinner.' Both women laughed – Skinner was an idle twat of a PC who was universally loathed.

'So what I can for you, Carol?'

'Oh, no, Ma'am – I'm fine, thanks. Actually, I've been having some massage myself. Found a really good girl who lives near me… But I was thinking – there's always someone off sick, either with an injury or some unspecified ailment that usually translates as Copper Blues.'

Alex perked up. This was promising. Sgt Watkins continued: 'I don't really know how it would work, but do you think it's worth doing some kind of training session or demonstration, or something, to show people that massage could be a solution for things the doctor can't fix?'

Alex was frowning, her mind racing. 'God, Carol – that's a bit advanced. I mean, you're absolutely right, but we'd be laughed out of the building. Wouldn't we?'

'Maybe, Ma'am, but it's worth a try. Sick notes cost us a fortune and give me a bloody nightmare trying to sort out shifts. It's got to be worth a try – if you're prepared to give it a go.'

'Oh, I'm game, but we'll need a guinea pig who's got enough clout to convince the sceptics. A man, obviously. Senior as possible. No-one soft – not a desk jockey. Someone the plods respect, a bloke who can handle a bit of strife...'

'Oi, Drake, what are you up to, and why?' the tungsten tones of DCI Hunt sliced into their conversation; the two women turned to see the Manc Lion prowling towards them, his face a picture of misogyny. 'Bloody women, hobnobbing. Are the City's scum in bed asleep, sergeant? They must all be kipping very soundly if you have time to dance around your handbags in my overstretched department.' Gene came to a halt in front of them, drew himself up to his full six feet and stuck both hands in his pockets, waiting for a response.

'Hello, Gene,' said the sergeant.

'Carol.'

Alex looked from one to the other, scenting history. But neither was giving anything away, and now wasn't the time to probe. Later, she thought, later.

'Sergeant Watkins was consulting me on a human resources issue, Guv.'

'What resources?' Gene frowned.

'Personnel, Gene.'

'Ah, the gossip department. Buzz off, Carol, there's a good girl. We've got work to do, unlike you flatfooted lot next door.'

Carol Watkins gave him a look that would have toasted ice, then turned to Alex with an evil smile. 'What do you reckon, Ma'am?'

Alex darted a look at Gene, and just about kept a straight face. 'Perfect.'

The sergeant nodded at the DCI and left, a hint of a laugh drifting back as she pushed through the double doors. The whiff of conspiracy did not pass him by, detective of twenty-five years standing that he was. '_Drake_...?'

But Alex, a bad smile on her face, was gone before he could catch her.

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By the following Tuesday Carol had set up the demonstration, with upwards of thirty people signed up for the session scheduled for the end of the shift on Thursday night. Alex was going to explain some basic bodywork theory and demonstrate on a volunteer to show how easy, simple and effective a way it was to tackle the stresses and strains of a demanding job.

But there wasn't much point in preaching to the converted. Shaz and Chris were doing a great PR job, but if anything valuable was to be achieved, Alex needed to influence someone with a bit of clout. If she could convert a recalcitrant senior officer, she might make some inroads into this pre-Cambrian swamp of a police force.

She took a deep breath, stood up and walked across to the Guv's office, where Attila the Hunt was hard at work, doodling. He removed his feet from the desk, chucked the pad down on to it, and scowled up at Alex as though she'd interrupted a solution to Fermat's Last Theorem. Alex took a sneaky look at the drawing on the pad – two knights jousting, one in black armour knocking the white knight off his mount. 'Been knocked off your high horse, Guv?' she teased.

'Not me, love. I'm the bastard in black. Winning.' Gene ripped the sheet off the pad and thrust it at Alex. 'Give that to Ray with my compliments, and tell him to stick it up...' Gene paused for a nano-second, '...on the board. Now, what are you after, Bolly?'

Taking a deep breath, Alex gave her boss an uncertain little smile. Gene's head snapped back. 'I know that look, Drake. It comes just before something I won't like. Something you know I won't like. So I'll save us both time and stomach acid by saying no now.' He glowered at her, daring her to argue.

Alex almost fell for it, opened her mouth to say something cutting, but remembered that she wanted a favour, and shut it again. She moved round and perched on the desk, as close to him as she dared. 'I need your help, Gene,' she said softly, confiding.

He looked alarmed. 'Bloody hell, now you're really scaring me. What have you done?'

She smiled winningly. 'Nothing, Gene, really. Promise.'

He looked, if anything, even more sceptical. 'Spit it out, then.'

'Remember, a couple of weeks ago, I was telling you about bodywork?'

'After I caught you and Skelton rubbing Granger up the right way? How could I forget? Don't tell me – you want to get your hands on my temple of a body. Or perhaps you've been dreaming about having my manly hands on your aching… er, muscles.' He was needling her, and Alex could feel herself starting to blush. But she couldn't let herself rise to the bait, or her plans would be scuppered.

She leaned on the desk, looking straight at him. 'I've agreed to something that I'm not sure I can do. You could save my bacon.'

'As per usual, Bolly.'

'As ever, Gene.' Unsure of how best to get him on side, she hesitated. Gene pushed his chair back and got to his feet, looming over her, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He bent down and pushed his face within biting distance of her nose. She held her nerve and sat still, her eyes on his.

'This is like drawing teeth, Bolly. Just tell me what you want, and then I'll say no, and we can all get back to work.'

She didn't flinch. 'I want you to come to a training session I'm running on Thursday night. _Please_, Gene.'

'Training? What – circuit? Weights? I quite fancy the idea of you in a leotard, Bolly, getting all sweaty.'

'Nothing so energetic. Half an hour in the canteen, watching me do a bit of bodywork on a volunteer.'

'Kinky. What do you want me to do?'

'Just turn up. See if you can get the Chief Super there.'

'He plays bridge on Thursdays. Well – Mrs Dorney plays bridge. He plays dummy.' his mouth twitched; Alex smiled.

'No Chief Super, then. Whoever you can get.'

'What's in it for me?'

'My undying gratitude?'

'And...?'

'The satisfaction of helping a colleague? The pleasure of lifelong learning?'

He was looking distinctly underwhelmed.

'Bottle of single malt?' she said hopefully.

'Better.'

'Deal?'

She held out her hand, and after a couple of seconds, Gene slid his hand into hers. 'Deal.'

As she began to pull her hand away, he held it fast. 'You're not setting me up, are you, Bolly? Planning to make a fool of me? I wouldn't appreciate that.' He squeezed her hand, pulling her close, his eyes burning into hers. 'I would not appreciate that at all.'

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	2. Hurting

A couple of hours later, Gene and Ray were back. Gene was clutching his right wrist and looking murderous when he crashed through the double doors and stalked through the office.

The problem, one Lina Fanourakis, was a woman of a certain age whose husband Costas had been caught smuggling cigarettes. She had apparently objected when Gene told Ray to read her husband his rights and bang the cuffs on him.

'I was trying to cuff the hairy-arsed bastard and he was shouting his Mediterranean mouth off, waving his arms around like they do, and being generally uncooperative,' said Ray, once DCI Hunt was safely ensconced in his office, door shut, three fingers of scotch in a glass. The rest of the team were agog; Alex stayed at her desk with her head bent over paperwork but she was ear-wigging intently.

Ray was loving the attention. 'Then his missus comes flying out the bedroom screeching and caterwauling, and starts laying into the Guv with a stiletto. The old bag must have looked a right slapper in them heels, all of four inches and bright scarlet, but one of 'em made a handy weapon. The Guv was trying to fend her off while I was dragging laughing boy to the car, and Lina got in a sly shot, smashing a heel into the Guv's arm with a vengeance.' Ray was in bits, laughing at his own story amidst guffaws from his colleagues.

'I thought she'd broken his arm for him but he says not. Must bloody hurt though – he let me drive back so it must have been bad.'

The door to the inner sanctum opened and DCI Hunt emerged, his face sour enough to curdle honey, and the entire team suddenly found urgent things to do. The Guv turned towards Alex. 'Drake – a word.'

He didn't look as though he were in the mood for dissent, so Alex scuttled round her desk and into his sanctum without a murmur.

'What have you dug up on the Dingwalls fraud? I'm getting earache from Dorney. His brother-in-law's on the board of directors, and is kicking up rough.'

'It's not looking good for the company's financial director. He had to have known what was going on.'

'I need a drink,' he muttered, and made for the whisky bottle. Unscrewing the cap with his left hand, he tried to pick up the bottle in his right, but it slipped from his grasp, bounced off the edge of the filing cabinet and landed on the carpet tiles, spilling the precious liquid over his shoes and the nylon floor. Unleashing an impressive string of curses, Gene recovered the bottle with his left hand, and sloshed generous measures into two glasses. He tried carefully to pick up a glass in his right hand, but stopped when he realised he couldn't grip it properly.

'Have you seen the doctor, Gene?'

'I'm not a bloody fairy.'

'But, Guv...'

'Drop it. Bloody fuss you women make.' He handed her a glass, knocked back his own drink in one gulp, and retreated behind his desk. 'What's this financial director's name?'

'David McElhinney.'

Gene dropped his head in resignation. 'Flaming bloody marvellous. That's really made my day, Drake. I've got to inform Chief Superintendent Dorney that his wife's brother is a crook?' He tilted his head back to look up at his DI with an expression of utter weariness.

She felt for him. Had he been anyone else, and anywhere else, she'd have given him a hug. But she could only imagine the form his rejection would take; an earful of abuse, for sure, and she'd never hear the end of it, from him or from the Cro-Magnon misfits watching from the other side of the glass. Shame, since she liked the idea of having her arms round Gene Hunt more than she'd admit to a living soul. Hard enough to admit to herself.

She dragged her mind back to policing. 'It's not just him, Guv. There must be at least two directors involved, plus some of the drivers. It's been going on for over a year, and they've siphoned off nearly half a million quid.'

'Bleeding Nora. Come on, Bolls, I've had enough for one day.' He got up and grabbed his coat, before ushering Alex out ahead of him.

'I'll follow you over.'

'No, you bloody won't. You can sodding well come with me and buy me enough whisky to wash the taste of today out of my mouth. I hope you haven't spent any of this month's salary.' He shooed her out of his sanctum and through the double doors with the rest of the team on their heels.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The following morning, Gene's mood was poisonous. His arm was obviously no better, and the hangover wasn't helping. Alex had watched him sink a vat of whisky before Ray poured him into a cab and went with him to pour him out at the other end.

Now they were all suffering his hangover as well as their own; it was quiet enough in CID to hear the hiss-tick-hiss-boom of Shaz's Walkman as she waded through the week's filing. Ray was snoozing at his desk, Chris was sifting through statements from witnesses to the affray at St Katherine's Dock the day before; Alex was marking up the forensic accountant's report on Dingwalls before she went over to bring in the directors. By eleven she was ready to leave, but she had to get Gene to have a word with Dorney about his brother in law.

She opened the door to his office gently, and poked her head in. 'Guv?'

'Has knocking gone out of fashion?'

'Sorry – I thought the quieter the better.'

Gene gave her a look from bloodshot eyes, but said nothing. She took that as a sign to continue, so she slid in and pushed the door to. 'Guv, have you spoken to the Chief Super?'

'I'm fighting the urge to throw up, Drake, and my head's going to come off if I move from this exact position. Giving Dorney bad news is not on my radar at this precise moment.'

'Do you want me to...'

'No.' He spoke a little too forcefully, and the effort clearly cost him.

Alex knew how it felt, so she gave him a sympathetic smile and left his office, returning two minutes later with three paracetamol and a pint glass of water. 'Here, Guv.'

'No.'

'Take, it, Gene.'

'I'll throw up.'

'Well, either way it'll be better than how you're feeling now.' She held them out to him and spoke softly. 'Come on, Guv.'

After a moment, he complied. 'Anything for a quiet life,' he muttered. He took the pills in his left hand and tossed them into his mouth, then taking the glass from her in the same hand. He took a mouthful of water and grimaced. 'What the fuck?'

'Warm water with some sugar stirred in. You're dehydrated and hypoglycaemic, so this is the best thing. Apart from anything else, it'll get the painkiller into your system quicker.' She smiled encouragingly. 'Go on, Gene, finish it.'

'A humane killer is what I need, but I suppose you're the nearest thing to it.'

'Stop being such a baby. Drink it.'

He drank it.

'Now go away, Bolly, and leave me in peace. Tell those arsewipes out there to stay away unless they want their bollocks stapling to their eyebrows.'

Refraining from laughing out loud, Alex left him to it.

Half an hour later, Gene emerged from his office, still pale, but alive and upright. 'Drake – in.' He stood at his door, waiting till she scooted past him.

'Right. What do I need to tell Dorney?'

'McElhinney is probably running the scam – as the finance director he's best placed to disguise the fraud.'

'How sure are you? Am I going to embarrass Dorney and dump myself in the shit for no good reason?'

'Don't think so, Guv. The forensic accountant seems amazed that he's got away with it for so long.'

'I couldn't give a rat's knacker, as long as you're a hundred per cent sure of your facts. If I give the Chief Super a red face without watertight evidence, he'll pluck me one short and curly hair at a time. Which will mean me doing the same to you after. On the front steps.' He glared at her.

'If you let me bring McElhinney and the others in for questioning today, I'll have your watertight evidence, Guv.'

'I can't bring the Chief Super's brother-in-law in here without warning him first. Shit. Shit. Bastard shit.'

He fumed silently for thirty seconds. Alex waited. Gene reached for the phone but it fell from his grasp and crashed to the desk, drawing a thesaurus of expletives from him. Alex picked up the receiver.

'Leave the fucking thing...'

'You've got to get your arm seen by a doctor, Gene...'

'Sod off, Drake. You're not my bloody mother.'

'No, thank god. I pity her…'

Glaring at her, he dialled, then snatched the phone from her with his left hand. 'It's DCI Hunt – I need to see the Chief Super. Now, preferably, sweetheart.'

A pause, then he dropped the phone back on its cradle.

'Come on, Drake – you can tell him what you've just told me. He's just back from playing golf, so we'd better hope he's had a good round.'

Chief Superintendent Jeremy Dorney had indeed had a good round, having thrashed two silks from King's Bench Walk. The good mood didn't last long, though, once Gene had told him about Dingwalls. Dorney's expression darkened as Alex went through her evidence, and when she stopped, Gene broke into the silence. 'Sir, if I could suggest...'

'You may, Hunt, if it's an idea that will stop me from being filleted by my wife.'

'Why don't you have a word with your oppo at Wood Street? The City of London Police can take this on – they've got a specialist fraud squad.'

'Ah, yes, Hunt. You could be right. DI Drake, you've done well with this, but you'd agree, I think, that it needs more specialised resources than you have available here.'

Alex, fuming at Gene's suggestion, demurred. 'No, sir, actually....' she stopped suddenly, aware of Gene giving her the laser beam treatment. She glanced across at him, and sighed.

'I'm sorry to take this away from you, DI Drake,' said Dorney, soothingly. 'I'm sure you're well informed about business, but you can see the rationale here.'

'Yes, sir,' she said between gritted teeth.

Dorney got to his feet; Gene and Alex followed suit. Dorney held out his hand to Gene, who took it as though grasping hot coals; he showed no reaction as Dorney shook his hand, but Alex knew it must have been agony.

She waited until they were downstairs and away from wagging plod ears, but in the corridor between the front desk and CID, she rounded on him. 'How....'

But before she could utter the accusation, Gene put up a hand to stop her. 'Sorry, Bolls. There was nothing else I could do.'

'But to imply...'

'I know. So does he. It's not about you. Once the story broke, the press would have been looking at Dorney, not CID. He couldn't keep the case here – you must see that.'

Gene's face was ashen, his eyes like stagnant water. Pain from his arm plus the punishing hangover must have been taxing even for the Manc Lion. Alex gripped his left elbow and propelled him back towards the main entrance. 'Come on. You need painkillers and sleep – you can kip at the flat for a couple of hours.'

'Just give me your key. I don't need escorting.'

'I don't trust you to go upstairs, and the hair of the dog is the last thing you need. Anyway you don't know where I keep the paracetamol. Do as you're told, for once in your bolshy northern life.'

They bickered all the way over the road and up two flights of stairs to Alex's flat; Gene collapsed on the sofa, moaning. 'Stoney-hearted witch.'

'I've no sympathy – this is self-inflicted.'

'Bloody isn't. Bloody woman stabbed me.'

'With a shoe.'

'It was a stiletto.'

'It was a rubber-tipped heel, not an assassin's knife. You're a big girl's blouse.'

That got the blaze back in his eyes. 'It was steel-tipped, and it's bloody agony.'

'I told you to go to the doctor. Anyway, I was talking about your alcohol poisoning. You can't blame that on anyone else.' Alex left Gene swearing at her and went to get analgesics and sugary water.

Gene didn't protest when she handed him the pills, and swallowed it all down without a word. He tried to lie down, but the sofa wasn't long enough for him.

'Use the bed, Gene. You need to sleep.' She dragged him up and pushed him through to the bedroom. 'Here,' she said, helping him off with his jacket.

He sat on the bed, tried to take off his tie with one hand, then submitted to her doing it for him. He started to kick off his boots, but gave in to a smirk when Alex knelt and pulled them off his feet. 'Keep going, love. I'm feeling better already.'

'Tosser. Lie down and shut up. Shove over a bit. Now give me your arm.'

She sat on the edge of the bed and undid his cuff, carefully pushing the sleeve up above his elbow. He watched her in silence, his eyes glittering.

She held his right arm in one hand and with the other began to probe gently around the elbow joint, with no pain response. She worked carefully down his arm, squeezing the muscle tissue and turning his wrist to feel the radius and ulna move beneath the skin. He winced as his arm turned. Alex worked in tiny circles, until she hit a spot that made him jump and pull his arm away. 'Jesus!' he hissed.

Alex took his wrist again and drew his arm towards her. 'You've bruised the nerve, just here.'

'_I_ didn't bloody bruise it – the Fannywotsit woman hit me...' He hissed at the pain of her touching the place with her thumb.

'Relax. If you tense up it'll hurt more.'

'How can I relax when you're ramming your thumb right through my flaming arm?'

'Shut up,' said Alex, softly. 'Lie back and close your eyes. Pretend you're dead. I'll be back in a minute.'

She came back with a folded towel and a tiny bottle. She put the towel on the bed under Gene's arm; then unscrewing the bottle, she squeezed a few drops on to her left palm, and rubbed her hands together to warm the essential oils.

He opened his eyes as the scent hit him. 'What's that?'

'This is a mix of marjoram, ginger and black pepper with sweet almond oil. They're all quite hot, which will help the muscles relax. Shut your eyes. Go to sleep.'

With her right hand and forearm supporting his, she began to smooth the oil into the skin, gently, slowly stroking her left palm along the muscles, soothing and stretching. She felt her palm heat up as the energy began to flow, felt his skin warming under her touch, releasing the aromatic essence from the oils. She heard Gene purr with pleasure. She loved doing this, liked the hypnotic movement, the feel of skin against skin, knowing that she was easing pain and offering healing. Whoever it was made no difference – it was human contact, the most ancient form of medicine. Except that it did make a difference, having Gene under her hands. However much she tried to deny it, she was very aware of him, hypersensitive to his responses. She couldn't miss his body's reaction, or her own, but she kept her eyes on his arm. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him watching her; felt his fingers start to caress the sensitive skin in the crook of her elbow. 'Bolls…' His voice was barely audible, the murmur vibrating right through her. She ached to lean over and kiss him. Resisting the temptation to give in was making her tremble.

Taking a deep breath, she gave him a neutral look. 'Gene, just relax. Close your eyes. You need to sleep. I'm trying to help you heal. Don't distract me.' Concentrating fiercely on the work, she shoved her feelings back into their box and thought about healing, focused on muscle fibres and neural dendrites, on lymph and haemoglobin. But his fingers still caressed her, and she couldn't ignore the sensations they were sending through her body.

'There's another muscle which needs a bit of attention, Bolls. You'd do it the world of good...' His voice, soft and smoky, shattered her concentration, and she dropped his arm as though it were radioactive, making him hiss in pain. She stood up, gave him one killing look. 'Arsehole. You're so bloody predictable. I don't know why I bothered.' She stalked out of the bedroom, hearing him protest.

'_Alex_… I didn't…' His voice was cut off as she slammed the front door behind her.

As she ran down the stairs she blanked out Gene Hunt, erased the picture of herself as a complete tit, squashed down the hurt and humiliation, let the anger rise up and send her flying back to the office. After everything she'd tried to explain. Beginning to think she was getting through to him. Beginning to think…

She snatched up the Dingwalls files and dumped them on Shaz's desk. 'Pack them up and leave them with Viv. We're handing them over to Wood Street fraud squad.'

Before Shaz could get a word out, Alex snarled at her. 'I'm taking the afternoon off.'

'Where's the Guv?' Ray called across the room.

'I neither know nor care,' snapped Alex, and slammed out of the office, leaving a shocked silence behind her, then a ripple of catcalls and laughter which chased her from the building. _Fuck them. Fuck the lot of them_. She marched to Tower Hill tube and got on a westbound train. 1981 London awaited her, and she had holiday owing.

xxxxxxxxxx


	3. Connecting

The following morning, Alex hadn't been at her desk for more than fifteen seconds before the figure of DCI Hunt loomed up. 'Morning, DI Drake. A word, if you wouldn't mind.'

He returned to his office and waited for her, closing the door once she was inside his sanctum. He looked at her for a moment, unreadable; she glared back at him, chin out, aggressive, waiting for the battle to start.

'You okay?' He sounded calm enough.

'Never better.'

'Where did you go yesterday?'

'Out.'

'I waited for you.'

Alex raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

'Where did you spend the night, Bolly?'

'Out.'

'Were you with Evan White?'

'No.'

'Where, then?'

'I'm not aware of a clause in my contract which says I have to account to you for my whereabouts off-duty. Sir.' She saw a tiny muscle jump beneath his eye.

'You flounced out of your flat and came here. Then I gather you flounced out of here and vanished. I know you didn't go home because I was there waiting for you.'

'What, all night? How _touching_.'

They were squaring up to each other now, unaware that there was utter silence in the office as everyone was listening to this fascinating exchange.

'So – what – you got pissed in some poncy bar, picked up some tosser in braces and went back to his place?'

'It's none of your business, DCI Hunt,' Alex retorted with exaggerated civility, 'but I'm sure you'll be glad to know that I had a wonderful night.'

Gene stood tall, his arms crossed. Muscles twitched in his jaw as he ground his teeth in muted fury.

'Is that it? Can I get on with some work, now?' She went to open the door, but Gene blocked her way.

'I don't want to know about your sordid love life, DI Drake…'

'Don't ask, then.' She glared at him.

'I couldn't care less if you work your way through the West Ham first reserves, as long as you turn up on time and fit for work in the morning.'

'And do you have any cause for complaint today?' Alex smiled briefly, but her eyes were below zero.

Gene glowered at her, but after a long moment, moved out of her way.

xxxxxxxxxx

'Yes, Andy, that's fine. I'll see you at midday. Yup. Bye.'

She put the phone down and scribbled a note to herself before going to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.

As the kettle began to boil, Gene lobbed up. 'Alex...'

She interrupted him. 'There's a DI coming over from Wood Street to pick up the Dingwalls stuff. Do you want to see him?'

'No. Alex...'

'I don't want a row, Gene.'

'No. Look... er, thanks for yesterday. My arm feels a bit better.'

She didn't look at him. 'It was nothing. I'd have done the same for anyone.'

Gene absorbed that. 'Hmm.'

There was a silence.

'So – we're okay, then?'

Alex shrugged. 'Yup.'

'No hard feelings?'

'Nope.'

'Hmm.' Gene was about to say something more, but without so much as a glance in his direction, Alex took her cup of coffee and went over to Chris to go through the list of phone numbers he'd been checking.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

DI Andrew Griffith left Fenchurch East with the Dingwalls file and an off-the-record word in his ear from Alex about the Chief Super's connection. Since the City of London Police was a completely separate force to the Met, Dorney could be squeaky clean, abandon his brother-in-law to the mercies of Blind Justice and save himself any embarrassing questions from the AC.

Alex poked her head round Gene's door to brief him. 'Guv? Andy Griffith is on his way now to pick up McElhinney and the others. Do you want to let the Chief Super know, or shall I?'

'I'll ring him in a minute. Come in and shut the door, Alex.'

She complied, albeit without enthusiasm.

'Where were you last night?'

'I've told you at least three times. Out.'

'I'd have left once you came back, you know. I only wanted to know you were okay.'

'Sure.' She wasn't giving an inch.

Gene heaved a sigh. 'Go on then, spit it out. Say what you've got to say.'

She shrugged. 'Nothing to say.'

He raised both eyebrows and gave her an old-fashioned look.

Alex tutted. 'I overreacted. Silly me.'

He dropped his gaze then looked back at her with a half-smile. 'Well, I suppose...'

She gave him a level stare. 'What else did I expect, after all?'

That went home. Gene looked as if she'd shot him.

'Um... tonight.' Alex was casual. 'No need to spoil your evening. Carol Watkins has rounded up a fair few, so you're off the hook. '

'You don't want me there.'

She shrugged. 'Anyone's welcome. But I'm sure you've got better things to do.' She turned on her heel and walked back to her desk, leaving Gene staring at the space where she'd been.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Carol Watkins had indeed rounded up a few. There must have been nearly a hundred people stuffed into the canteen at six o'clock, including, she noted with astonishment, Chief Superintendent Dorney. Alex looked around, saw Shaz and Chris sitting as though welded together; Ray was sitting with a clutch of CID faces, and Viv was in the front row, looking rather fit in civvies, long legs stretched in front of him. No sign of Gene; Alex was annoyed to realise her disappointment.

Carol clapped her hands for silence, and, impressively, shut the whole room up instantly. 'Right, you hard bunch. Thank you for turning up. We won't keep you from your beer for too long, but I think you'll enjoy the next little while. You all know Detective Inspector Alex Drake; she hasn't been at Fenchurch East for long, but she's made something of a name for herself, and not just for effective policing.'

'She makes the most convincing prozzie in the division.' The heckle came from the back of the room, where CID was huddled. The room erupted.

'Thank you, DS Carling, for that endorsement...'

'I was referring to DI Drake's undercover skills, of course,' called Ray, playing up to the audience.

'I put you under cover in a minute, Ray.' Sgt Watkins let the steel show for a moment, and Ray discovered the beauty of silence.

Carol continued. 'DI Drake has an impressive track record in defusing potentially violent situations, but has shown time and again that she has no hesitation in confronting danger. Her courage is beyond question… and it's said that she doesn't pull her punches.'

Laughter erupted from the uniforms, but was rapidly quelled by glares from CID.

Carol turned to Alex, who, in a grey sleeveless work-out top and leggings with legwarmers, her feet in socks and her hair tied back, looked about sixteen and as intimidating as the Andrex puppy. 'Tonight, DI Drake is going to show us some ways to help heal injuries and deal with the everyday stresses and strains of the job. No more excuses for sick notes because of a pulled muscle... PC Turner.'

The room roared again. Keith Turner was a joker who'd been known to phone in with a strained chuckle muscle.

'Alex – over to you,' said Carol, with a broad smile.

She took a deep breath and launched into her introduction. Using Carol as a model, she ran through the parts of the body most vulnerable to injury, and most prone to stress. She called Shaz Granger up to tell her story, and got her a round of applause.

Alex released her back to Chris, and looked around the room. 'Okay. I need a volunteer. Someone who's got an injury. A muscle strain, back pain – headache?'

Ray climbed on to his chair and stuck his backside out: 'I've got a pain in the arse, otherwise known as DC Skelton – can you help me with that?'

Guffaws, as Ray was dragged off his chair by Lucas. Alex saw a hand in the air. 'Viv?' The courteous desk sergeant spoke up. 'I slipped a disk two years ago, and it's given me gip ever since.'

'Okay, Viv, good – come on up.' Alex waved him forward, but a figure moved from the shadows in the corner of the room and pushed through the crowd.

'No you don't, Skip. My need's greater than yours.' Gene came to stand beside Alex and stuck his right hand out for the benefit of the audience. 'See this? The long arm of the law. It's been severely damaged by an ungrateful member of the criminal classes, and it's rendered me 'armless.'

Cheers from the room. Alex tried not to look too gobsmacked, but the expression on Gene's face as he looked down at her was her undoing.

'DCI Hunt – what an unexpected, er, pleasure.' She was shocked to find she meant it. She got Gene to sit astride the chair, his arm resting on the chair back. He was wearing a black T-shirt, Alex noted, so he'd come prepared. She caught his eye for a moment – a glance that was not lost on the more observant in the room.

'So, DCI Hunt. Tell us where it hurts.'

Alex waited for the wisecrack, but Gene was full of surprises. 'I was attacked yesterday by an individual wielding a sharp object, and one blow connected rather heavily with my forearm. I gather that the blow has bruised a nerve, which is why it's so painful, and why I can't even pick up a pint glass in this hand.'

Sympathetic groans from the floor. Alex nodded, and taking Gene's arm in her hands, she asked, provocatively, 'What does the doctor say?'

'Dr Spurge confirmed the diagnosis, and prescribed codeine and a sling.'

Alex blinked. _Sneaky bastard_. 'All right, then. Let's see what we can do. Often I work with oil – essential oils in a carrier such as sweet almond oil. But it's not, er, essential.' She smiled at the watching faces. 'The only things you really need are a pair of hands. If you don't have any of those free, feet will do. Human touch – it's real life magic. The first form of medicine, and still the best.'

As she spoke, Alex stroked Gene's damaged arm with her palm in unhurried, deliberate movements, working from the wrist up to the elbow. 'A bruised nerve is very painful, and extremely sensitive. So I have to be careful how I touch – I can't use my thumb, for instance...' she touched her thumb lightly to the sore spot, and Gene flinched. 'So this soothing stroke starts to relax the muscles and warm them.'

She worked quietly for a few moments, till Carol chipped in. 'How come you do this? It doesn't seem to fit with your day job.'

'My daughter was born at 31 weeks; I'd heard that massage was really good for premature babies, so I learned. It did marvels for my daughter, and I loved it, so did some more training. It's a lovely skill to have, and a good antidote to the stresses of CID,' she smiled across at Carol.

Holding Gene's arm above the elbow, she let his forearm dangle. 'It's important to relax the whole muscle group, because an injury makes you compensate for the pain. So manipulating the upper arm and shoulder will stop the shoulder muscles seizing up.'

She shook Gene's arm gently, murmuring to him. 'Relax. Let me take the weight – let go. That's it.' She squeezed the big deltoid muscle over his shoulder and probed the joint, stretching and rolling. Gene's face flickered as she worked the tender spots. 'You know the biceps,' she told the audience, outlining the muscle on Gene's arm, 'but with this injury it's going to be the triceps that gets sore, here,' she pressed with the heel of her hand, and Gene groaned softly, shutting his eyes for a moment.

'I'd normally take up to an hour at a time to work this kind of injury, and it would need a number of sessions to recover properly, so I'm going to use a technique to speed the process a little. It's very simple, just using a simple breathing technique to boost the amount of energy moving through my hands.' She spent a couple of minutes concentrating on her breathing, standing quite still with Gene's arm between her hands; the audience watched, spellbound.

'I'm not the healer, by the way – DCI Hunt's body is doing all its own healing, just using the extra help I'm providing.'

Alex rested Gene's forearm on her own, with her hands over the damaged nerve. 'I'm going to concentrate on the bruise for a while. Let the heat do its work.' She closed her eyes for a minute, her hands motionless on Gene's arm. After a while, she looked at her client. 'Gene, can you tell us what you can feel?'

The big copper struggled to find his voice for a moment, and cleared his throat. 'Er... your hands are red hot.'

There was complete silence in the room for a few minutes.

'Christ – they're really burning...' Gene was staring at her hands as if he expected them to burst into flames.

'Good. That's great. Tell me how it feels now.'

'Feels like my arm's on fire, inside...' Gene shifted in the chair as though he wanted to pull his arm away.

'Stick with it – I know it's uncomfortable, but it's doing great.'

Someone cleared their throat in the audience. It was the Chief Super. 'DI Drake – can I ask you a question?'

'Of course, sir.'

'Where's this heat coming from? Are you using some kind of deep heat cream?'

'No, sir, just my hands. The heat's an energy that we can all generate. In fact, I bet that some people can feel heat in their own hands now, just from picking up the energy I'm using.' There were some murmurs around the room. 'It's a natural talent we've all got.'

She turned back to Gene. 'How does it feel now?'

'It's getting a bit cooler. The pain... I can't tell if it's the injury, or just heat.'

'Good,' said Alex. 'You're doing brilliantly,' she added softly.

She fielded a few more questions from the floor, then turned back to Gene. 'How does it feel now?'

'Good. Still warm, but the pain's stopped. Feels different.' Gene frowned, puzzling over the oddness of it.

Alex worked a few strokes along his arm, dispersing the heat and bringing the muscles back to life. 'Does it feel okay to stop now?' He nodded hesitantly, and she put his arm on the chairback. 'Thanks, Gene. You've been great.' She turned to the sergeant. 'Carol – how long did that take?'

'Just under 15 minutes.'

'Great. Have we got time to see some stressbusting techniques?'

Murmurs of assent, and heads nodding.

'Who else wants to be a guinea pig?'

A dozen hands went up.

'Naff off. I'm not budging,' Gene was firm. 'I have to work with this woman every day and she gives me more bloody stress than I can deal with. This is payback time.'

The laughter was good-humoured, the mood in the room markedly different from the beginning. Gene sat up and took a deep breath.

'Do your worst, love.'

Alex, her back to the audience, gave Gene a slit-eyed, dangerous look. 'Is that a challenge?' Her voice was too soft for the audience to hear, but Shaz and Carol, whose antennae were more sensitive than most, noticed the body language.

He returned her gaze, poker-faced. Alex smiled at him, then turned to the waiting crowd. 'Okay, first some nice easy relaxation techniques, then some wake-up techniques. These are all really simple and can be learned very quickly. In ten or fifteen minutes you can undo much of the stress of the day for someone – even five minutes will make a big difference. Watch...'

Putting her hands on Gene's shoulders, she scrunched them a couple of times, squeezing and pressing along the ridge of muscle over his collar bone, from his spine out to the top of his arms and back in. Pushing his head forward, she pressed up along his neck with her thumbs, going right up to the base of his skull, then all the way down his spine to his waist. Making fists, she knuckled up the long muscles either side of his spine and back down, then stroked her palms slowly and smoothly along each rib. Using her fists like soft hammers, she beat rhythmically all over his back for a couple of minutes, before chopping cross his shoulders with the edge of her hands. 'This looks a bit brutal, but it _feels_ wonderful – very relaxing.'

She checked her client with a quick glance at his face – eyes closed, his face was a picture of bliss. 'Okay, Gene?' she asked softly. '_Mmm_...' came the inarticulate response.

Then putting her palms on the sides of his neck, she rubbed the solid muscles in small circles. She worked up into his hairline, fingertips moving his scalp and massaging slowly. She pulled his head back against her stomach and worked her fingertips firmly across his face – jawline, cheeks, forehead, circling and smoothing, working her way back to his neck and shoulders, setting him upright, letting his head fall forward a little.

Alex put a finger to her lips, hushing the audience, stopping any laughter from the entranced observers. 'How are you doing, Gene?' Her hands resting on his shoulders, she checked his state of consciousness.

'Mmm...' and then something that might have been '...don't stop...' but was not entirely clear.

She smiled at the audience, giving the thumbs-up at the sight of Attila the Hunt half-conscious and blissed out.

'Now the five-minute wake-up,' she said.

Leaning her forearms on his shoulders, she pressed down with all her weight on one side, then the other, rocking him from side to side, stretching life into his shoulder muscles. Then turning her hip into his spine, she pulled his shoulders back, stretching his pectorals and compressing the big trapezius muscles in his back. Pushing him forward, so he was leaning against the chairback, she scrubbed with her fingertips all over his back in swift, random movements, then drummed her fingertips lightly, rapidly, up his spine, across his ribs, over his skull, down his neck, around to the top of his chest, down his arms. Then after quick, strong sweeping movements across his back, she finished by running her thumbs fast down his spine and back up, making Gene shudder violently and open his eyes as though electrocuted.

'You're done, DCI Hunt.'

There was a stunned silence for a few seconds.

'Bloody hellfire,' intoned Gene, looking shocked to the core.

Alex, with a broad smile, turned to the audience. 'I think DCI Hunt deserves a round of applause for being such a good sport,' she declared, prompting whistles, catcalls and cheers from the assembled law enforcers.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

It took Alex a while to escape; Gene had led a posse across the road to Luigi's, leaving her to answer strings of eager questions for the best part of an hour. Finally able to go home, she was too exhausted to face a rowdy bar, and headed straight upstairs. But sitting on the top step, a bottle of champagne and two glasses beside him, was the guinea pig.

'They've let you go, then, Bolls?'

'How did you know I'd come straight up?'

'I know all sorts of things, love.'

'How did you get the Chief Super there? It was you, I take it.'

'He's in the doghouse with his missus. He didn't need much persuading.'

'Carol was delighted. She thinks you're god.'

'And what about you, Bolls?'

She smiled. 'Agnostic. Come on, let me past.'

Gene stood up so she could open the door. He followed her inside, putting the glasses on the coffee table and popped the champagne cork, spilling a bit of fizz on the carpet. 'Bolly, Bolly?'

It was, too. Bollinger. Alex was taken aback – she knew he was generous, but hadn't believed Gene Hunt capable of such thoughtfulness. It was almost... She stopped herself even thinking the word. She took a glass from him, noticing only then that he'd been holding it in his right hand.

'Arm feeling better, Gene?'

'As you can see, Bolls.'

He raised his own glass to her. 'Here's to you, DI Miracleworker. Thanks.' He knocked back the glassful and poured himself another. 'You're full of surprises, you.'

Alex took a swig of bubbly. 'You're a fine one to talk, Mr Hunt.' She smiled, feeling idiotically shy. 'Er, Gene… Thanks for this evening. For trusting me. And taking it seriously; not, um…'

'Taking the piss? Had a word with Carol, Bolls. When she told me what it was all about, I thought it was a good idea. Cut down on the skiving and whingeing and malingering round here.' He nodded emphatically. 'About bloody time. Cheap, too.'

'Er, quite. Good. Well, thanks. You were a really good sport. Your endorsement went a long way to convincing the sceptics; you should have heard some of the comments and questions afterwards.'

'Good. Glad to help, Bolls.' He hesitated. 'Reckoned I owed you, anyway…'

For a long moment they looked at each other, until Alex felt herself start to blush, and dropped her gaze.

'Bolls…' He started to ask her something, but she felt suddenly dizzy; she had to grab on to him to steady herself, and sat down suddenly on the sofa.

'Alex? You okay?' Gene sat beside her, gave her a sharp look; she was pale, and shivery.

'I just need to sleep for a bit. I often get like this afterwards...'

Gene took her glass and put it on the table. 'Lie down, then.' Alex obeyed, incapable of independent thought. She felt him pull off her shoes, then after a moment, felt the duvet being tucked round her. 'It's freezing in here,' he muttered, and seconds later Alex heard the hiss of the gas fire being lit.

'I'll wake up in a bit. Be down later,' she murmured. She felt the touch of his hand on her head for a second, and heard the door clicking shut as he left.

xxxxxxxxxx

She was sweltering. Alex kicked off the duvet and sat up, completely disorientated for a moment. Then she remembered, and clambered off the sofa, dumping the duvet back on her bed, heading to the loo and then to the kitchen for three glasses of water in quick succession. Nine-thirty – she'd slept for almost an hour.

She was starving. Pulling on her shoes, she looked for the key to the front door, but couldn't find it; she opened the door and put it on the latch – she was only nipping downstairs for some food, and the place was full of coppers, so it'd be a brave burglar who'd have a go.

The first thing she saw was Gene, sitting at the top of the stairs, wreathed in smoke; he didn't turn, but shifted sideways to make room for her.

'Hello, Aurora,' he said, as she sat down next to him. 'Feel better?'

'Yes. Thanks. I thought you'd gone down. What are you doing sitting up here?'

'Thinking.'

'You usually do your thinking over a glass of whisky.'

'I've got Bolly, Bolly.' He waved the now empty bottle of champagne.

'I'm ravenous. I was going to get something from Luigi and bring it back up. Want to join me?'

'Yes, but I'll go.'

'No, really – I need to move. I'll be back in two secs.' Putting a hand on Gene's knee Alex levered herself up, and ran downstairs to the bar. She ordered a big plate of antipasti and another bottle of Bollinger; Luigi promised to bring it up to her in ten minutes. Before she could go back up, Alex was collared by Shaz.

'Hi Ma'am – we missed you. Are you all right?'

'Thanks, Shaz. I needed a cat nap – bit demanding, this evening.'

'I'm not surprised – it was amazing. The Guv left after half an hour – he looked shattered.'

'Shaz – who's Aurora?'

'Princess Aurora? The Sleeping Beauty, Ma'am. Why do you ask?'

'Just wondered.' Alex smiled to herself, but it wasn't lost on Shaz, who filed it away with all the other snippets of evidence she'd been gathering.

Alex leapt back up the stairs to find Gene in the flat, stretched out on the sofa, a glass of whisky in his hand and her front door key on the table. 'Helped myself to your scotch.' He sat up and stretched his legs towards the fire.

'It's yours. At least I haven't bought any since I've been here, so it must be.' Alex plonked herself at the other end of the sofa. 'You okay, Gene? You're very quiet.'

'I feel good, Bolls. Very mellow.'

'Better than sex, isn't it?'

'Getting a rub-down in front of every joker and shit-stirrer in the station? Wouldn't go that far.' He paused for a swig of Scotch. 'And if you really think that, you need to find a man who knows what he's doing.' He gave her a wicked sideways glance, but before she could retort, there was a knock at the door, and Luigi pushed through it with a laden tray.

'Signorina? Your supper.' Luigi stopped dead when he saw Gene, but a broad grin spread across his face as he put the tray down. 'Ahh – you are here, Signor...

'No, I'm not, Luigi. Not here. Comprende?'

The Italian smiled, and tapped the side of his nose. '_Capisco. Bene_. Enjoy your supper alone, signorina,' he chuckled, and took himself off. '_Buona notte!_' drifted back from the stairwell.

Gene uncorked the second bottle of champagne and poured them both a glass. 'Here's to you, love – DI Bollykecks Hot Hands Drake.' He raised his glass to her.

'And you, Gene. Here's to surprises,' said Alex, clinking glasses with him.

Gene threw back the champagne and set upon the food in front of them. Ripping apart the ciabatta, he stuffed a bit with slices of mortadella and took a huge bite. Alex speared an artichoke heart and moaned with pleasure as she ate it. 'God, that's good. I'm so hungry...'

They wolfed their way through the lot as though they hadn't eaten for a week, then slumped back against the cushions, stuffed. Gene lit a cigarette, took a deep drag and tipped his head back to exhale, watching the smoke drift towards the ceiling. They relaxed over the rest of the champagne, their argument forgotten, both half-pissed. Talked about bodywork, about the response to the demonstration. About colleagues. About Sam Tyler.

'You remind me of him, Bolls. Mouthy bastard. Teaching Chris all sorts. Taping interviews, doing forensics' job for 'em. Obsessed with the latest tricks. Some of them made sense, but he'd gnaw the arse out of a dead mole if he thought there was some science behind it.' Gene sighed. 'I miss him. Stupid sod, getting himself killed. Couldn't even have a funeral...'

Not knowing what to say, Alex reached out a hand to him, touched his wrist. Rubbed the back of his hand.

Gene cleared his throat, then leaned forward to pour himself another drink. He waved the bottle at Alex, but she shook her head.

'My turn, Bolls.'

She waited.

'Your husband – where's he?'

Alex thought for a moment. 'Last time I heard, in Los Angeles making a fortune as a divorce lawyer.'

'Are you still married?'

'Divorced eight years ago. We were only married for five years and the last four of them were a nightmare.' She looked at Gene, the anger and hurt in her eyes. 'Anything else? Want a list of my other failures? It's a long bloody list...'

'Bolls...' Gene took her hand, rubbed her shoulder gently. Alex scrubbed the tears from her eyes, smiled at him, embarrassed at her outburst. 'Sorry.'

Gene still had hold of her hand, and gave it a squeeze. 'Alex...'

She waited, scared of hearing something she didn't want to know.

xxxxxxxxx


	4. Healing

'Where were you last night, Alex?'

At the look in his eyes, she smiled. 'I went shopping for something expensive and slinky, then I went to Claridge's.'

Gene let go of her hand and got to his feet, going to the window and staring out through the blind. 'Rich bastard, is he then?'

'Who?'

'Boyfriend at Claridge's.'

'There was no boyfriend, Gene. I decided to blow a week's money on a bit of luxury. It was wonderful,' she chuckled at the expression on his face.

'On your tod? You spent the night alone? In a hotel?'

'Mmm. Massage, long, hot, perfumed bath, delicious dinner with a very good Chablis, and a blissfully comfortable bed. Cost a fortune, but it was just what I needed.'

'Dinner in your room, or something? Gene was bemused.

'Nope. Put on my new dress and went downstairs. The maitre d' was sweet - fussed over me like a mother hen. Scared off a couple of well-dressed sleazeballs. He wasn't as scary as you, but he had an enormous nose and a formidable French accent.'

'You were all fluffed up and dressed to the nines, you had dinner at a table for one with some froggy garçon on guard, then you slept in a big posh bed, all on your own?'

'Yes. Why not?'

Gene looked down at her. 'Because it was a waste. And if you'd taken me with you, you wouldn't have needed the gendarme.'

She couldn't find an answer. All night she'd longed for him even as she'd cursed herself for a fool. Didn't know what to say to him now. She stood up and moved away, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm, his touch scalding her skin.

'Why did you walk out on me yesterday?'

'You know why.'

'Not really. Tell me, Alex.'

'I felt humiliated. It hurt, Gene.'

'If you'd have let me explain instead of storming out…'

'I'd hoped… I'd wanted to show you we didn't have to fight all the time. That I could be…'

'Gentle. Kind. I know, Bolls. I've seen it in you often enough.'

'But not with you. I've never been kind to you.'

He didn't answer, and she could feel the blush rising because he couldn't deny it.

'I was trying to be a friend, Gene. Find somewhere we could co-exist between anger and frustration.'

'It felt good, Bolls. Being cared for.' He stroked his fingers along her shoulder and down her bare arm. 'Felt so good.'

His voice was no more than a rumble, and Alex felt everything melt. 'Then _why_ did you say…'

'It didn't come out right. But you jumped to the wrong conclusion, Alex; didn't give me a chance. I was talking about this muscle.' He took her hand and put it over his heart.

She felt it racing, thudding; looked up at him, eyes enormous, contrite. 'Oh.'

He smiled into her eyes. 'Daft tart. I thought you knew about bodies?'

She blushed. 'I do. But it was a bit blatant.'

'What was, Bolls?'

'Your… agenda.'

'Can't always control what my body wants.'

'I know what your body wants. Mine too…'

'_Bolls_…' His hands slid round her, stroked over her back, fingers finding the gap between top and leggings and caressing the skin at her waist. He bent his head and dropped a slow kiss on her shoulder, his lips soft on her flesh, making her shudder. 'Then why wouldn't you…'

She half pushed him away. 'Have a fling with my DCI? Scratch an itch? And when it was over, I'd have to move on. Tagged as an easy target by every predatory male in the Met. You'd have another notch on your reputation and I'd be left with the consequences.'

There was a small silence before he spoke. 'Is that what you're afraid of? _Alex_… That wouldn't be enough, would it?' He traced one finger down her face. 'For either of us.'

She was caught in his gaze; felt her heart turn over. Couldn't speak.

'Didn't it occur to you?'

She shook her head slowly.

'Mind you, took me by surprise and all.'

'Gene…'

'What, Bolls?'

'Shut up.' She drew his head down to hers, touched her lips to his mouth, tongue flicking lightly at his lips, inviting his kiss. She pulled back, puzzled at his lack of response. 'What's wrong?'

'You told me to keep my mouth shut, Bolls.'

She grinned, pressing closer to him. 'When have you ever done wh…'

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her smile; she tasted champagne and smoke. Fire and earth. Tender, promising kisses turned playful, Alex feeling the graze of stubble as Gene nibbled her jaw, his breath hot on her skin till she was dizzy with desire for him. Then his mouth was on her neck, his touch on her flesh making her ache for him. He pushed the thin straps from her shoulders; his hands were all over her body, outlined in the soft thin cotton like a second skin. He groaned her name, hands moulding her arse, pulling her against him till Alex was lost, aware only of the urgency of their bodies, feeling naked beneath his exploring hands. Desperate to touch him, she pulled his t-shirt free of his belt, pushing her hands up over his back, then helping him pull the shirt off so she could taste him.

On fire, drunk on each other, they barely heard the fist pounding on her door, but it didn't stop. 'DI Drake? Inspector Drake!'

Alex almost wept with frustration. Gene was fuming. 'Carling. What the _fuck_ does he want, the bastard?'

The hammering continued, Ray's voice too insistent to be ignored.

'He's not going to go away.' With a squeeze of his hand, Alex went to her front door, pulling her top straight as she went.

Ray gave her a long look. 'Sorry to, er, disturb you, Inspector, but there's an armed siege in progress, and you're wanted.'

_I'm wanted here._ 'Where, Ray?'

'Prospect of Whitby. Some nutter's taken the landlord and his wife hostage.'

'Shit. All right, I'll be down in five minutes.'

'Tell the Guv that DI Aldridge is in from City. This lunatic was in custody at Bishopsgate…'

'The Guv?'

'Thought I saw him at your window, Inspector. His car's still outside.'

_Shit_. She decided to brazen it out. 'Shaz said he left early. Not in his office?'

Ray sighed. 'No, Inspector.' He looked resigned to the little game. 'I know. I'll stick a message on his windscreen, shall I?'

'Good idea. You know, it would be so great if we had phones we could carry with us. Don't you think? Mobile phones. Someone should invent them.'

'You've been watching too much Star Trek. Hurry up, Inspector, time's wasting. Nutter's coming to the boil.'

'Five minutes.' She shut the door and went back to Gene. 'Did you hear all that?'

'Yes. Why couldn't the fucking psycho go nuts on someone else's patch?' He pulled her into his arms, started to kiss her, but she pushed him away. 'Stop, Gene. I've got to go. Damn and bloody fucking bastard hell but I've got to go.'

'Can I watch you change?'

She laughed at him as she went to her bedroom. 'Perv. No, you can't.' She ripped off t-shirt and leggings and found a pair of jeans, socks, jersey. Turned to find Gene at the door, watching hungrily as she stood in her bra and knickers.

'Couldn't resist.' He grinned at her, unrepentant. 'Free sample.'

'Sod. Go away.'

He advanced on her. 'Got to know if you feel as good as you look.' He put his hands to her waist, his palms sliding up over her ribs, hot on her cool skin. 'Oh, Jesus, you do. _Alex_… have you any idea how much I want you?'

She giggled, rubbing against him. 'I think I have, yes…' Then she wriggled out of his grasp. 'If you let me get dressed and leave now I'll give you a massage tomorrow.'

He groaned at the thought. 'Proper massage.'

'Proper massage. Naked. With oil. All over.'

He looked at her as though he wanted to eat her alive. 'And then…'

'And then.'

He took a deep breath, eyes full of promises; then stepped back. 'Get going, then. What're you waiting for?'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By the time the siege ended and uniform dragged the perpetrator out to a patrol car, it was after three, and Alex was shivering with cold and exhaustion.

She, Ray and Duffy had got to the pub to find a flotilla of patrol cars outside the old building on Wapping Wall, and DI Marshall Aldridge waiting for her. Gene had turned up fifteen minutes later, but had let the two DIs run the show.

It was only when Alex reached the point of persuading the gunman to let her swap places with the landlady's wife that Gene pulled her aside for an urgent word. 'Don't be idiotic, Alex. You're putting yourself in danger for no good reason.'

'Two hostages are two good reasons. It's what I'm here to do, Gene.'

'Not to get yourself killed.'

They bickered in whispers for a minute before Alex took his hand and squeezed it, shielded from the others by Gene's body. 'Let me do my job, Gene.'

Before he could stop her, she'd walked back to the pub entrance, calling up to the gunman behind the curtains at the first floor window. 'I'm coming in now, David.'

She'd taken two steps towards the door when there was a shout, a crash, and a gunshot all within a second. Alex, Aldridge and a stream of coppers dashed into the building and upstairs to find the gunman spark out on the floor, with the pub landlord standing over him and his wife breaking open the shotgun like a big game hunter.

'She pulled the rug from under him. Literally.' Ray was explaining to Duffy on the upstairs landing, as the gunman was hauled out. 'Brilliant, eh? Pretended to faint a few minutes earlier and when he was shouting out the window to Drake, the old bird yanked, and he went down. Knocked hisself out on the fireplace.' He chuckled. 'Who'd 'a thowt it, eh? Looks such a gentle old biddy.'

Alex heard the last bit as she joined them. 'Lesson for you, Ray. It's dangerous to underestimate women.'

He cast her a baleful look, muttering to himself. 'Especially when they've had their curlers in too tight.'

'I heard that, Ray.' Gene growled at his sergeant. He jerked his head at Alex and they left the pub. 'Come on, I'm taking you home.'

'What about this lot?'

'Straightforward clear-up. Aldridge can sort it out with Ray. In the car with you.'

It only took five minutes to get back, but instead of driving Alex straight home, Gene turned in to Chamber Street and parked away from prying eyes. 'Want you to myself for ten minutes.'

'Aren't you coming back with me?' Alex shivered, and Gene pulled her into his arms, rubbing her back.

'No, love. You need sleep, and if I come upstairs I won't be able to leave. And if I don't leave neither of us will get much sleep.'

She chuckled through chattering teeth. 'That's very bloody unselfish of you.'

'Not really, Bolls. Enlightened self-interest. I want you on top form tomorrow. We've got a very important date…' His voice dropped half an octave, a rumble that went right through Alex's body.

She pulled away from him just enough to see his face. 'Do you really want a massage? Bodywork?'

'Mmmm. What you did this evening…' He slid a hand under her coat and found the edge of her jersey, sliding beneath it to caress her skin. '…was the best fifteen minutes I've ever had in public.' He kissed her nose. 'You're a woman of many parts, Bolls.' He kissed the corner of her mouth, making her sigh. '…and I want all of them.'

She had one hand under his t-shirt, playing over his spine. 'You seem to have found the key, Gene…' Her other hand slid up behind his neck, her fingers in his hair as her mouth sipped at his, promising everything.

Between kisses, he murmured to her. 'You think my key will fit your lock…?'

She murmured back. 'If the keyhole's well oiled…'

Gene groaned, his hand sliding up her thigh.

She was panting. 'The tumblers will fall…' They were breathless, nipping and licking at any exposed flesh, hands greedy for each other, touching, stroking, teasing. She began to giggle, and kissed her way to his ear. Murmured, 'And you'll be into my safe deposit box…'

They collapsed in helpless laughter, kissing and caressing. 'That's disgusting, Bolls…'

'I know…'

'Tart.'

He wrapped his arms round her and squeezed her tight, groaning with longing. She hugged him back, aching for him. 'Gene… Sure you won't stay tonight?'

'Bolls…' His voice caressed her ear. 'Want to take you to bed and stay there till hell freezes over…' He let her go abruptly and pushed her back in her seat firmly. 'But I don't want you falling asleep half way through and missing the best bits.' He turned the ignition key and put the car in gear, nipping round two corners and parking outside Luigi's. 'Go on, Sleeping Beauty, off you toddle.'

'I can't change your mind?'

'In a heartbeat. But don't. It's not often I'm this bloody noble.' He picked up her hand and kissed the palm.

She was melting for him. 'I'll just lie awake thinking about you.'

'You'll be asleep before you close your eyes. Don't come in tomorrow before midday; have a good long lie-in so you get all your energy back.' He gave her a look that scorched all the way through her. 'You're going to need it, love.'

She sucked in a breath, body weak with desire at the promise in his eyes. '_Gene_…'

xxxxxxxxxxx

He'd been right. Alex didn't remember taking her clothes off, couldn't remember dreaming, woke gently just before eleven with Gene in her mind, and stretched like a cat, sinking back into the bed with a noisy sigh of utter contentment. She hadn't slept so well since she'd arrived.

For a while she lay thinking about him, her body remembering his touch, the taste and scent of him in her head, his voice wrapping round her. Thought about the night to come and felt the sweat break out on her body at the promise of it. _Never wanted anyone so much._ They'd had to come so far since the summer, but now they'd finally reached out to each other, it seemed so obvious, so simple. _Inescapable. We're a match. So different, and so alike._

She got up and stood under the shower, letting the water pound life into her till she tingled, thinking about the bodywork. Planning how best to please him; thinking of the strokes, their speed and weight, the shape of it all. How to move from one stage to the next, how to end it. How to switch from bodywork to love, one body to two

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Unable to stand having Gene in her line of sight all afternoon, Alex took herself off to the Prospect of Whitby to re-interview the pub landlord and his gun-toting missus. 'There's something about their statements that makes me uneasy. Can't put my finger on it.'

'You could put your finger on this instead.' His voice was a soft rumble.

She had no doubt what _this_ was, and felt herself melting. She dropped her voice to a murmur, smouldering at him. 'Not in front of the children…' She turned to leave. 'Taking Shaz with me, okay? Shouldn't be long.' Sweeping WPC Granger up and out of the office with her, DI Drake left DCI Hunt with an itch he wasn't going to get scratched for another few hours.

Alex's instincts had been justified; the Prospect case took up the rest of afternoon, and by the time Alex and Shaz got back to the office it was nearly five. 'I'm going to head off, Guv, if that's okay with you.' She kept a straight face as she spoke, not wanting to give the gossip gannets a hint of anything newsworthy.

Gene was obviously feeling mischievous. 'Got plans, Bolly?'

'Hot date, Guv.'

'What time?'

'Six thirty.'

'You'd better get cracking, then.'

'And what have you got planned, Guv?'

'Don't know what's in store. I'll be in her hands.'

'Hope she uses Fairy Liquid.'

'Off you go, Drake…'

But six thirty came and went, with no sign of him. He'd phoned fifteen minutes after she'd left the office to say he might be a few minutes late. 'Tip-off we had a couple of weeks ago – bloke smuggling in Vietnamese refugees, remember? Ray's snout says they've got more coming in tonight – old school building in Lowood Street. Going to take a vanload of plods and round them all up. Shouldn't take long if I crack the whip.'

But by seven thirty there was still no word, and Alex was flipping between annoyance and worry; by eight it was just worry. She phoned the station, got hold of Carol Watkins.

'They're on their way back in now, Alex. It all kicked off. Couple of nasty injuries, but I don't have the whole story.'

Alex didn't bother to pretend. 'Is Gene…'

'He's fine, as far as I know. I'll tell him you phoned as soon as I see him.'

Twenty minutes later Alex answered the summons to her door, and found Gene looking exhausted, blood on his face, in his hair; his jacket and shirt front stiff with it. 'Oh, my god… You _are_ hurt…' She pulled him inside but he resisted her touch.

'I'm all right. Not my blood. Don't… You'll get it on you.'

'It's dry. Anyway I don't care… Want to hold you.' She put her arms round him, hugged him till he gave in and hugged her back. She pushed him over to the sofa and poured him a very large scotch, letting him drink it in silence, sitting on the arm of the sofa, fingers on his neck rubbing gently.

She waited till he'd smoked his way through a cigarette and finished his drink; he stood up and took off his coat, then lit another fag and wandered over to the window.

'They were kids, Alex. Little girls, mostly. Oldest was twelve, thirteen. Parents paid this bastard Tommy Leung to get their kids to safety in Hong Kong. Their life savings, sometimes. Instead he brings them here so he can either sell them to sick fuckers as 'servants', or put them to work himself. There's a big enough paedophile market.' He picked up the bottle of scotch and poured himself another.

'What happened tonight?'

'It was going okay, but then Leung pulled a knife and grabbed at one of the two women with the kids. Screaming at her in Chinese. Had the knife at her throat; probably going to try to use her as a hostage. But she struggled and got away from him. She ran towards me and he came after her. Happened so bloody fast. The other woman and some of the kids got in the way and no-one could grab him in time. He slashed at her; caught her in the back. She turned around, put her arms up to defend herself. He kept stabbing at her; must have caught an artery. Blood everywhere. She jumped at me, clung like a monkey, terrified. Some uniforms took her off me, and I turned back. The other woman and several of the kids were attacking Leung. Ray and three uniforms were trying to get them off but they'd gone nuts. Then Leung was on the floor with Ray's knee in his back, and there was a little girl on the ground, the knife in her chest. Before any of us could reach her, another little kid, maybe nine or ten – pulled the knife out. She was bleeding so fast.' He dropped his head, closing his eyes for a moment. 'We took her and the woman to the London, but she was dead before we got there.'

'You carried her, didn't you? She died in your arms. _Gene_… I'm sorry.'

'It's the job, Alex.'

'It can still break your heart.'

He didn't answer; turned away from her. 'Sorry, Bolls. Better go. Not going to be much use to you tonight.'

'No, Gene. Stay. Let me look after you. Come on…'

She led him unprotesting to the bathroom; ran the bath and began to undress him, pushing his jacket off his shoulders and removing his tie. Sitting on the edge of the bath, he looked exhausted, his face ashen beneath the smeared blood, no longer bothering to hide it from her. Her heart lurched; she dropped a tender kiss on his head before leaving him to soak away the visible evidence of fear and death.

She gave him half an hour, then put her ear to the bathroom door. All was silent for a second before she heard a gentle snore. 'She tapped on the door. 'Gene? You asleep?'

No answer beyond another snore. She knocked again and opened the door, but didn't go in, just spoke through the gap. 'Gene? Wake up.'

There was a startled sort of grunt and the sound of sloshing water. 'Er… 'kay. Mmmm… minute…'

'There's a towel on the rail for you.'

'Cheers. Be out in a sec.'

He was awake. She went into the bedroom; he emerged ten seconds later, a towel slung round his hips, his hair plastered to his head and water dripping down his body.

'Sorry, Bolls. Almost went to sleep in there. Where'd you want me?'

'On the bed, look. Lie on your front, with your head here. The pillow should be under your chest.' She showed him where she'd laid out a big towel across the bed, so she could stand at his head and his feet as she worked. He lay down as instructed, head pillowed on his hands; she put another towel over him, folded in half so it covered him from chest to thigh, then took the damp bath towel from round his waist. With slow strokes she rubbed his hair dry, gently massaging his scalp; then she stroked the towel over his wet body drying shoulders and limbs. Throwing the wet towel to the door, she unfolded the bath sheet and covered him from neck to toes, stroking firmly through the material to anchor him and start the relaxation process.

'Comfortable?'

'Mmmm.'

'Warm enough?'

'Mmmm.'

She kissed his shoulder, then knelt beside the bed for a moment, one hand resting in the small of his back, the other on his forearm as she spoke softly. 'I'll do all the work, so unless I ask you to do something, just let go and don't lift a finger to help me. Okay?' He grunted, which she took to be assent. 'If you want me to stop for any reason, just tell me and I'll stop immediately. This shouldn't hurt at all, so if you feel pain, tell me. Sometimes the touch will bring things to mind. Memories, maybe or just feelings. If you want to talk, that's fine. If you don't, that's fine. And if you go to sleep, that's okay too.'

He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly in a profound sigh.

She oiled her hands and forearms, releasing scents of lavender and clary sage, sandalwood and ylang ylang; she dabbed a little on the back of Gene's wrists so he'd breathe in the aromas as she worked. She folded the towel down to his hips, exposing his back. Standing at his head, Alex put both her forearms across Gene's shoulders, and with all her bodyweight leaning on him, pushed slowly down his back, making him groan with the heavy, sensual pressure. She repeated the long stroke over and over, feeling him relax a little more each time, as the oils worked into his skin with the warmth of her arms and her weight pressed his body into the bed. She took her time, working every part of his body from his soles to his scalp, pressing, stroking, tapping, pounding, rocking, working with weight and steady pace to connect him with his body, make him feel every touch, notice the sensations as she worked. She felt his breathing get deeper and slower, hear the rumbles of pleasure, the occasional groan as she ironed out the kinks. As she worked his arms and his hands, she had to remind him softly to let go, let her take the weight, do the work.

When she picked up his foot and began to work on his calf muscle, she felt him tense. She worked gently, slowly, watching him. His shoulders and neck were knotted up and he leaned his forehead on his hands, hiding his face. She moved to his side, putting one hand on the small of his back, the other between his shoulder blades, rubbing gently in circles; his whole body was trembling with the effort of keeping control. She kissed his shoulder. 'Whatever's come up – don't push it back down, Gene. Let it go. I'm going to give you a moment, then we'll carry on.' She put a hand on his head for an instant, and left the room.

She gave him five minutes, then went back in, touching his head and rubbing his back briefly, before going back to his calves. This time, no tension. She spent a few minutes working on his back and shoulders to relax them again, and another minute or so massaging neck and scalp, extracting groans of pleasure from him.

'Time to turn over.' She held the towel between them till he'd rolled on to his front; took the pillow from beneath him so he could lie flat, smoothed the towel over him and checked to see if his feet were warm.

'Bolls…' He was holding a hand out to her; she took it, kneeling at his side.

'My father used to slap our legs when we were little, Stu and me, when we were in short trousers. With his hand, first. Then with a belt. I'd forgotten.'

She said nothing, just squeezed his hand.

'But that wasn't it. It was remembering my mother rubbing ointment into our legs after. Felt the same. Don't think anyone's… touched...' He couldn't go on. Shut his eyes and squeezed her hand tight.

She leant over, kissed his forehead. 'Want to talk?' He shook his head. 'Ready for the other half, then?'

'Mmm.'

He was asleep in minutes, snoring gently as she worked, making her smile, giving her the freedom to concentrate completely on his body knowing he was beyond memories for the time being. He woke as she started to work on his neck and his jaw, but only just, the only clue the change in his breathing.

She loved seeing him so relaxed and content to be in her hands. Trusting her. DCI Gene Hunt, who she'd have bet hadn't let himself go like this very often in his life. Ever, probably, especially with a violent father. Bad memories locked up in the body. Hard to trust anyone after that.

She knelt at his head, stroking her fingers along his jaw, through his hair, over his forehead, rhythmically soothing and calming for several minutes as he lay motionless, eyes closed, awake but in a trance of utter relaxation. She put her hands on his head for half a minute, then kissed his forehead lightly. 'You're done. Move when you're ready. Take your time. I'll go and get you some water.'

But when she came back with the glass, he hadn't budged. 'You gone to sleep?'

'Mm-no.' He was mumbling, as though he couldn't speak properly. 'Just don't want to move.' He opened his eyes and looked up at her, eyes shining, reaching for her hand and holding it against his chest. 'Come and lie down, Bolls. Just for a bit.'

She put the water down and crawled over the bed to lie with her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest, their bodies touching from head to toe.

He curled his arm round her back, stroking gently. 'Know what you meant now. About this being better than sex.'

She tried to lift herself up so she could look at him, but he held her still, and she relaxed; let him talk.

'Never felt such peace, Alex. Felt so… safe. The world went away. The only thing was you.' He swallowed. 'Caring for me. Like there was nothing else you cared about.'

'As if you were the only thing in this world that mattered.' She kissed his chest. Closed her eyes as she felt his hand stroke her hair.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

She was woken by the smell of frying onions. Got up, tottered to the bathroom, splashed water on her face and did her teeth; feeling fresh and rested, she went to the kitchen to see Gene dressed in jeans and jersey, shaking a smoking hot pan of onions, a pan of spuds boiling beside it.

'Found steak and stuff in the fridge. Thought I'd make supper while you had a kip.'

'Smells wonderful.' She put her arms round his waist and leaned against him. 'You can come and cook in my kitchen any old time.'

'I'm not just a pretty face, Bolls. Now go away and do something useful. Slice a tomato. Lay the table. Stop distracting the chef.'

'Yessir.'

Gene took the onions off the heat. 'Oi. Where are you going?'

'To do something useful.'

'Come here at once.'

'Yessir.' She chuckled, and obeyed.

He took her in his arms, smiling down at her, unused to her in bare feet. 'Since when have you been so compliant?'

'Since you started issuing such irresistible orders.'

'I'll try to remember that.' He kissed her grinning mouth. 'How're you feeling?'

'I feel like a new woman. How about you?'

'I'm okay with the one I've got, thanks.'

She laughed softly. 'And how do you feel?'

He put a hand on her arse and squeezed. 'Like this.'

She swatted his hand away with mock indignation. 'So that's an "all right then, on the whole"?'

'More than all right, Bolls. Never felt better. Body and soul.' He kissed her hair tenderly. 'Taken the first step.'

'First step?'

'Mm-hmm.'

'First step to what?'

'Onions are getting cold.' With a quirky smile he turned his attention back to the stove and concentrated on food, leaving her to deal with a lettuce.

They ate in the kitchen – fillet steak, new potatoes and salad washed down with a Nuit St Georges, but Gene refused pudding.

'I've got you for afters, Bolls. You just need peeling.' He pulled her to her feet and into his arms. 'Time for my reward.'

'Reward?'

'Mmm. You promised. If I let you practise on me.'

'Bloody cheek…' She purred as she wrapped her arms round him and tipped her head back to look at him, eyes narrowed. 'Well, then. You'd better get on with it, I suppose. Sooner you start, sooner it'll be over.'

He growled and lifted her, hefting her up so she wrapped her legs round his waist and clung round his neck. 'Christ, you've eaten too much.' He yelped as she nipped his ear, then groaned as he carried her back to bed and dropped her laughing on to the mattress. She lay, limbs sprawled, watching him as he pulled his jersey over his head, then stood there, eyes glittering, returning her gaze.

'Roll over, then.'

She looked puzzled.

'Roll over.' He made a circular motion with his forefinger.

She obeyed. 'Like this?'

'Just like that.' Gene knelt over her, straddling her hips, and pushed her cotton top up and off, pulling it gently over her head and dropping it on the floor. Her bra went the same way, then he peeled off her grey leggings, leaving her in just a plain pair of white cotton briefs. Alex heard him sucking in a sharp breath. 'God. You look so innocent…' He removed the virginal garment with gentle hands and she felt him clamber off the bed; heard him taking off his jeans. Then felt his hands on her feet, felt his lips kissing each sole, then dropping kisses on each calf, working gradually north, stroking and teasing as he went. He licked the back of her knees, and she groaned in delight, her hips moving, needing his touch. He continued exploring his way up the back of her thighs and over her arse, cupping her cheeks, squeezing the firm, rounded muscles, licking and biting gently until she was panting with frustration.

'Gene, oh god, must…' She tried to turn over, desperate to touch him, but he pressed her shoulders to the mattress, kissing the small of her back.

'Not yet, Bolls. It's my turn now. Need to get to know you.' As he took another slow bite, his fingers slid between her legs, teasing with the lightest of touches for an instant, making her whimper, bending one knee, opening herself to him, pleading. But the artist's hands moved on, moulding her waist, palms stroking up her flanks as he kissed his way up her spine. His fingers skimmed the sides of her breasts, stroking in little circles as his mouth charted her shoulders, biting the firm muscles over her collarbone, licking the top of her spine and kissing his way up her neck, whispering as he licked her ear. 'Beautiful, Alex. No-one like you. Wanted you so long. Never felt…'

Desperate, she twisted beneath him, writhing in his grip till she was on her back, hands gripping his head, pulling his mouth to hers, kissing him with passion, biting and growling. 'Want you, Gene. Want you now…'

'Wildcat…' He pushed her down, grabbed her wrists and held her, his eyes betraying the strength of his desire. 'Patience, Alex. Not long now…'

'Can't wait. Losing my mind…'

'Hush, love. You just lie there and let me do all the work.' An evil smile flickered over his face as he tormented her with her own words.

She panted with laughter. 'You bastard. Oh, you bastard. I… oh god…' She saw him then, his long, powerful body naked, straddling her,

Her hands released, she stopped struggling; stroked his arms and his shoulders as he knelt over her, drinking in the sight of her underneath him, her skin flushed, eyes drugged with lust. He lowered his head and took her breast into his mouth.

She watched him, helplessly drunk on the sensations that blazed through her body and burnt out her mind, sensations created by his hands, his mouth… With sudden strength, Alex pushed him over. 'Want to look at you. Have to touch you, Gene.'

'No.' He pulled her up so she was straddling his waist, her breasts tantalisingly close to his mouth. And in a split second he'd flipped her on to her back and was kissing her belly button, not to be diverted from his slow journey. He pushed her legs apart, stroking the silky skin inside her thighs as he looked at her, breathing her in.

'Gene…' She breathed his name, clutching at the headboard to keep herself still, almost screaming as she waited for him, her body on fire, trembling. He nuzzled her, tasted her, the touch of his tongue making her shake as she sobbed his name.

And then he was sliding inside her, pushing deep, kissing her mouth hungrily. She exulted in the power of him, wrapping her legs round his waist and pulling him deeper, gripping him tight as a wave of exquisite pleasure hit her. She abandoned herself to him, felt him let go, let himself drive towards completion, taking her with him, pulsing round him, her whole body shaking with ecstasy till she broke free, bucking beneath him, hearing him roar with his own release, thrusting until he was spent.

Shuddering with aftershocks, she was gasping for breath, her heart pounding as Gene collapsed on to her for a few seconds before he muttered, preparing to roll away from her. 'Too heavy…'

'Don't move. Love your weight. Love you inside me. Love you…'

But he didn't wait long before he rolled over with her tight in his arms so they lay on their sides, still joined, Alex's leg over his hip. 'Don't want to squash you, Bolls. Want you to survive for another go.' He buried his face in her neck, pressing his body even closer to hers as he whispered words he never thought he'd say again.

The movement gave her a final shuddering wave of pleasure. '_Oh_, _god.._.' She felt tears spill, overwhelmed by it, and let him go, collapsing on her back, searching for his hand, squeezing tight as her heart rate gradually slowed. After a minute, she wriggled on to her front and leaned over to kiss him.

His eyes were closed, but he smiled. Alex reached over and clutched the edge of the duvet, pulling it over them before she put her head on Gene's chest and drifted into welcoming sleep.

xxxxxxxxxxx

She woke smiling, her body heavy with contentment, her heart missing a beat as she saw Gene looking down at her, a light in his eyes she'd never seen before. She lifted a hand to his face, stroking her knuckles softly against his cheek, stubble grazing her skin. 'Morning, Guv.'

He caught her hand and kissed it. 'Hello, dozy.'

'Sleep well?'

'No. Dreadful.'

'Why? What was wrong?'

'Wanted hot sweaty dreams about you all night. Not a dicky bird. Slept like a log. Out like a light. Very upsetting.'

A slow grin broke across her face, and she stretched, her spine arching, limbs quivering until she collapsed back on the pillow, sighing with deep happiness. 'Well, Gene, how do you want to play this? Shall we be all cool and non-committal?'

He put a hand on her breast, stroking gently with his thumb. 'Bit late for that, Bolls. Things were said.'

'Confessions under duress don't count. You could retract. Only a verbal.'

'Give me a pen and I'll sign it.'

She pulled his head down, and whispered against his lips. 'Shall I get Carling over to take statements?' He growled as she kissed him, and she felt the rumble in all her soft bits. 'Thinking of Carling…'

'Do we have to?'

'… you're more of your Heineken, you are.'

He was ahead of her, and smiled knowingly. 'Ready for more refreshment, then?'

She smiled back as her hand slid between them, checking the situation. 'Hmm. Pump primed. Barrel full.' She licked her lips. 'Let's see if I can get a good frothy head…'

For once in his life, Gene Hunt was lost for words.

- end -


End file.
